I Made A Fort
by MEBA13
Summary: In which Sherlock makes a fort and MUST show John. Fluffy as ever. Please read and review!


**This was an RP done on Omegle, I tend to do my best during these. Hope you enjoy! Fluffiness and Sherlock drunkenness!  
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I built a fort. -SH

A fort? Like with pillows and blankets?-JW

Pillows, blankets and supports. It's quite extensive, I moved the furniture. -SH

Why? Have you reverted to an eight year old?-JW

Might have found your whiskey. -SH

Oh lord Sherlock. -JW

The last time that happened there were arms in the tub.-JW

I think you might call building a fort a better outlet. -SH

It's beautiful, John, you simply must see. Cancel your date. -SH

That is indeed a better outlet than bodies but this date is important to me, what would I say? "Oh sorry I can't tonight I have to go play in my flatmate's fort."-JW

Precisely, yes. It's symmetric, John, symmetric! -SH

And what if I don't come see?-JW

I'll lay here on the floor and groan. -SH

It's not like I can hear you-JW

Use telepathy. We've lived together for years, there has to be some sort of bond here. -SH

You know what? Fine. I'll come see your bloody fort. It had better be fucking impressive.-JW

Good good. Come quick, yeah? -SH

Alright, I'm leaving the surgery now, I'll be there in ten minutes.-JW

Sherlock was in the exact center of the fort, a tent sort of thing shaped in a hexagon covering the expanse of the sitting room. He was lying on the floor, on his back, staring up with clouded eyes at the ceiling of it, grinning like an idiot, if the detective could even appear as one. There was about a meter and a half of space to allow movement underneath. It was obvious he took pride in the thing; he was humming along to a tune he'd gotten stuck in his head during the construction of it. Sherlock watched absently as the ceiling began to rotate slightly.

John gathered up his things from his desk and left the building, he had had a long day. Right now he did not particularly want to deal with Sherlock, a drunk one at that. At least he had not totally trashed the flat this time. The sky was grey and suggested rain as he hailed a cab to get home. About five minutes later he paid the cabbie and entered the flat.

Sherlock was still in his position in the midpoint of the hexagon, arms limp at his sides, legs outstretched. He'd used every blanket he could locate, which unfortunately, didn't allow for further hexagons to match, like he'd drunkenly planned. Sherlock was aiming for somewhat of a honeycomb, though one was fine, seeing how the stairs would have been a complication. It might not have been as impressive as he was seeing it, though, perception and all that.

John walked up the stairs heavily. As he looked into the living room he saw the giant hexagon. The detective didn't quite sit up to greet him, grinning to himself, before snickering at the sound of John at the door. Though, of course, his plan wasn't to get drunk... that seem to have just... happened. Tolerance to alcohol wasn't something he normally exercised. The bottle of the betraying liquid was rolled to a corner of the fort, at least three quarters gone. "Under here."

John rounded the side of the fort which was difficult as it nearly filled the whole room, the entrance was pointed towards the fireplace. John knelt down and looked into the opening between two sheets that looked like they had been taken from his own bed. "My god Sherlock this is amazing..." John began to enter the fort. "It's huge!"

Sherlock, seeing John in his peripheral vision, smirked and immediately began pointing around the thing. "It's a perfectly symmetrical hexagon made up of six equiangular and equilateral triangles, each with sides exact in length to the centimeter, measured with those..." he gestured toward a protractor and a meter stick discarded off in a corner. "Sixty degrees in each corner exactly. The highest point is in the center, a meter and 3/4 tall, all the blankets from the flat and all the pillows arranged along the outside edge..." Sherlock waved a hand in the direction of a wide collection of cushions. "It's structure sound, and won't fall unless you move this..." He lightly tapped the support in the center, a stand with various books stacked precariously to accompany the extra space.

"This is a much better outlet than those bodies." John slid past the central support to sit next to Sherlock." With surprise in this eyes John asked, "How long did this take you?" He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the floor.

"Twenty minutes. It fell the first time, so I had to restart. The protractor isn't quite big enough for something this size, so for the most part, I had to make a guess as to the angles, though that had been easy using the equal angles theorem, all equal and everything," Sherlock slurred, not missing a beat. "Look at it John, it's perfect."

"I'll agree with you there" John stuttered. Eyes wide. "It's even more impressive that you did this completely drunk." If i had drunk this much whiskey I would probably be out on some random street corner puking and passing out about now." John held up the bottle measuring the remaining liquid with his eyes. "Seriously."

"Alcohol affects the body before the mind..." Sherlock waved an uncoordinated hand dismissively. In truth, the whole process might have been a bit humorous to watch, as he'd been practically dashing around the flat to collect the materials and tedious put everything together. "I found... if you do not move too much, you do not feel sick."

"I'll have to remember that." John smirked. He picked up the bottle and took a drink. Before lying down to look at the celling of the fort.

Sherlock smirked to himself as he heard John lie down next to him, silent for a few moments in admiration of his build... he made plenty of these as a kid, ranging from squares to decagons. Mycroft was quite the architect himself, though the man would never admit to that. He simply watched as the ceiling rotated, making a trippy kind of swirling of the hexagon above him.

John could lay here on the floor of the fort all night. It was a lovely fort. It more resembled a tent than anything else. He never thought the detective a drinker. A very creative one at that. "Hey Sherlock, do you always get like this when you drink? All creative and such?" John asked without his eyes leaving the tent top. bottle still in hand.

"Hm? Oh," He was beginning to tune out when John spoke again. Sherlock was only drinking because he literally had nothing better to do. John wouldn't let him smoke, and the last two patches were slapped on his arm from earlier. Narcotics was an absolute negative, and really, he was glad he'd restrained, as they were always ready in his desk. Sherlock squinted upwards in thought. "Suppose, yeah, you could say that..."

"Really? I always just get touchy and giggly." John made a face. Remembering some nights at a bar wherein two lovely women had been very offended by a drunk John. That was not a good experience. Despite it he took another sip from the bottle. John turned his head to look at Sherlock who was staring at the ceiling looking dazed.

Sherlock had pegged John as that kind of drunk anyway, figuring as much. John was the caring kind, so he wouldn't have been an angry drunk. If anything, the detective reverted back into a kind of child. It might have been funny to see, even if he was laughing at himself. "Touchy and giggly John must be funny..."

"Giggly John is said to be funny, however some people get offended by touchy John..." John winced as he thought of the ladies at the bar again. But relaxed as the alcohol began to take affect. He had had an equivalent of about three shots now anyways. He giggled to himself at the thought of a touchy Sherlock wobbling through a bar. He doubted Sherlock would be that way though seeing as he avoided contact at all costs.

The detective had never been one for drinking, and normally, he despised the idea. He'd been been drunk about... three times in his life? Yeah, that was correct. Sherlock didn't like it like narcotics... it numbed the brain, but it made you look like more of an idiot. Did he look like an idiot? He wasn't sure, he tended to ramble like this, like his thought process seemed to come right from his mouth. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement before speaking. "Pity, touchy John sounds a bit comedic as well," He smirked lightly, tone easy. "Better than an angry drunk, or a creative drunk with nothing to do..."

"If I keep drinking you might have to see him." Groaned John. "Then you may wish to leave." He snickered. He wondered what Sherlock would possibly do if he started to get all touchy on him. Probably kick him in the face. John sighed.

As to why John was sighing, he didn't really know. Sherlock wasn't minding the company of his friend, especially lying on the floor with him in the center of his childish masterpiece. He grinned to himself as he pictured the both of them. The detective knew very well that he himself was drunk of his arse, so leaving wasn't quite an option, not without puking halfway out of the room. His stomach was settled lying down, so this was where he'd stay. "Any type of John is a friend of mine," he drawled.

"Well that's a good thing isn't it then." John listed. "You're my friend too Sherlock." He giggled. "You are my bff!" and began to laugh out loud at his own words.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John from the corner of his eye, the first time he'd torn his eyes away from the fort, grinning at John as he laughed. He gave a chuckle as well, returning his gaze back upwards before closing his eyes. The acronym was cheesy, but in this state, he didn't say anything. "Mutuaaal..."

"Heh" said John and rolled over onto his stomach closing his eyes. "g'night?" he asked unsure if Sherlock was falling asleep or not.

His eyes shot open, turning back to John with an almost wild look in his eyes. Sleep? Ah, no, he wasn't tired, and he was definitely not falling asleep, because he dreaded the results in the morning. Staying awake put that off. "Noo, awake."

John lifted his hand to signal an okay hand gesture and bumped the central pole, the tent wobbled but didn't fall. He let his hand drop and accidentally hit sherlock in the head. John decided to keep his appendages from flailing from now on. "Sorry." he muttered Turning his head to apologize.

Sherlock's eyes dragged to the center support, only flinching the slightest bit as John's hand smacked him. He was much more concerned for the fort than anything else. It didn't seem to be falling, as that would have been a horrible mess... first, they'd be surrounded and completely buried in blankets and things. That meant getting up and lots of confusing moving around, and his stomach churned the slightest bit at the thought. "Fine, fine..." he waved dismissively.

"If it falls you are going to fix it you know." Muttered John. "I don't wanna." John yawned

He made a half scoff, half smirk, rolling his shoulders to get situated back on the floor. Sherlock wasn't really going to put it back up; the fun was in construction, not in result. "Meh..."

John sat up wobbling. His though process nearly completely destroyed. "Meh?" So you don't care then? John laughed before reaching out to grab the pole.

Sherlock's eyes widened almost comedically as he sat up with John, reaching to catch his hand before touching the thing, though missing at first before getting it. "Okaay, I care."

"Heh I knew it!" John attacked Sherlock by pushing him over, they landed on the floor. "I knew you cared about your bloody fort falling over!" John laughed

The detective hadn't even realized he'd been attacked until a moment after it happened, falling back onto the floor with a smirk on his face at the ridiculousness. He really only cared the fort stay up so he could get out of it, for crying out loud. "One does not simply destroy a masterpiece..."

"People destroy masterpieces all the time." John slurred not getting up. "Don't see how this is different you crazy guy." John smiled in a way a drunk person would. Not caring and a bit floaty.

Sherlock stuck out his lower lip in a pout, scrunching his nose a bit as he shifted on the floor to better convenience his stomach, though the expression was short lived as he couldn't help but grin back. "As long as the Mona Lisa is intact, so can my fort."

John rolled his eyes and let his arms go slack effectively crushing sherlock into the floor even more. "That's stupid." he muttered into sherlock's side. John soon slipped off to sleep on top of Sherlock, rapidly approaching the hangover that was sure to come in the morning.

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**There you go! Hope you liked it, my RP partner got disconnected at the last bit so I had to finish the last sentence so sorry if it seems to end abruptly. Please leave a review!**


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